The Case and the Girl eBook

Yet how could he begin action? What clue did
he possess which could be followed? Practically
none. Before morning, that saloon on Wray Street
would unquestionably be deserted, except perhaps by
its proprietor, and Mike would simply deny everything.
A search of the place would be useless, for Hobart
would be too sly a fox to leave any trail. Two
possibilities remained; the police might have some
record of the fellow, might know his favourite haunts,
even be able to locate his next probable hiding place.
If not, the only hope remaining would seem to be Natalie
Coolidge. She would undoubtedly return to Fairlawn;
was probably there already, and, by shadowing her,
the whereabouts of Hobart would surely be revealed
either sooner or later.

But possibly there was a quicker way to learn their
purpose than by thus seeking to find either.
If it was the Coolidge fortune which was at stake,
why not endeavour to learn in whose trust it was being
held, and what steps were being taken to safe-guard
it? This investigation ought not to be particularly
difficult, even though he possessed no authority;
he could explain the nature of his interest to an attorney,
and be advised how to proceed. Determined to take
all three steps the first thing next day, West rested
back comfortably in the chair, already half asleep.
One hand rested in his pocket, and as his fingers
fumbled some object there, he suddenly recalled the
knife Sexton had found in the alley.

He drew the article forth curiously, and looked at
it under the glow of the electric light—­it
was a small silver handled pen-knife, such as a lady
might carry, a rather strange thing to be discovered
in a dirt alley back of Wray Street. The incongruity
struck him forcibly, and he sat up, wide awake once
more, seeking for some mark of identification on the
polished handle. There was none, not an inscription
of any kind, but he noted that the single slender
blade did not fit closely down into its place.
He opened it idly to learn the cause—­beneath
appeared the white gleam of tightly folded paper.

CHAPTER XX

WHAT THE TELEPHONE TOLD

All West’s indifference vanished instantly.
He had to pry the paper out, so closely had it been
wedged in beneath the closed knife blade, and it required
a moment in which to straighten it out so that the
writing was discernable. Even then the marks
were so faint, and minute, he could not really decipher
them until he made use of a magnifying glass lying
on the desk. A woman’s hand, using a pencil,
had hastily inscribed the words on a scrap of common
paper, apparently torn from some book—­the
inspiration of an instant, perhaps, a sudden hope
born of desperation. He fairly had to dig the
words out, letter by letter, copying them on an old
envelope until he had the message complete: “Please
notify police to search Seminole quick.”